A Sister's Pain
by Horch
Summary: Why? Why does she have headaches? It's because she was Maysilee's sister, and she never recovered from her death. This is the story about how and why Mrs. Undersee got such terrible headaches.
1. The First Taste Of Doom

**The characters are ****not mine.**

**They all belong to Suzanne Collins, the author of the Hunger Games. But please review anyway!**

**P.S. – I'm a new author. Go easy on me—this is my first fanfic. ;)**

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I wake up, and rub my eyes. I look at the bed beside me. My sister isn't there; her canary, Stewart, takes her place. I put on a white satin dress and head downstairs for breakfast only to find Maysilee picking at her oatmeal.

"Morning, Maribelle," Maysilee says, hiding her spoon under the table. She grimaces. "Your oatmeal's on the counter if you want it." I nod at her, pretending not to notice her odd behavior.

I take my oatmeal, which is topped with a few blackberries I gathered a few weeks ago. Oh…that day was hot. Our friend Delilah was busy working in her parents' apothecary, and Maysilee was burning hot to the touch.

"_Why don't you take a breath of fresh air?" Mother says. "It's an oven in here, and I wonder if you could pick up a vial of medicine for Maysilee?" I grin at my sister and rush out the door._

_I walk down the path to the apothecary. Soon, the smiling face of Delilah Hale is in front of me. "How could I help you?" my best friend asks, and gives me a wink._

"_Maysilee's burning with fever," I tell her. She nods, and reaches into a small mahogany shelf and brings out a vial with pink liquid inside. She hands it to me. "Thanks." I tell her. Delilah smiles at me._

_As I head back home, I spot a bush festooned with dark-colored berries. I pick one, and pop it into my mouth. Instantly, the berry bursts, and the sweet, flavorful juice is released. I pick another. It looks familiar…they call it blackberries I think. I pick all the berries I see on the bush, and put them in the basket, next to the vial._

_I head home with a grinning face._

"Maribelle," Maysilee's voice brings me back to reality. "Maribelle!"

"Aah—sorry!" I tell her hastily. "I must've been…out…for a while?" I'm horrible with words…I'm not as good with them as my sister is. She never stutters.

"Don't ask me," Maysilee says. She takes a berry from my bowl and pops it into her mouth. "So do you think you'll be reaped?" she asks me. I shake my head.

"Doubt it," I reply, hogging my oatmeal. "We don't take tesserae."

"You're right. Just saying…" Maysilee says, lost in her own thoughts. I wolf down my breakfast while she's in a trance.

At around two, we walk to the town square. The mayor is already there, in his black top hat and navy blue coat. Our escort, Scarlett Waters—with her unmistakably scarlet hair and yellow eyes—is seated beside the mayor. Our mentor is nowhere to be seen.

The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. I don't bother to listen—and neither does Maysilee—as we have heard that speech a million times already.

Before we realize it, Scarlett is already bouncing to the glass balls containing the tributes' names. "Why's Scarlett so happy?" I ask Maysilee. She looks at me in shock.

"You don't remember?" she asks me, horrified. "It's the Quell this year!"

The Quarter Quell. A gorier Hunger Games for the tributes. At least two families will shut their windows, lock their doors—and grieve in peace. This year, two more families will be added to the mix. Yes, this year, two more tributes will be added to the awful concoction—the Hunger Games—and die.

Scarlett puts her hand into the glass ball labeled 'Girls' and draws out a slip of paper, after saying a rather cheery 'Ladies first'. I close my eyes, preparing for the worst, when she calls out—

"Lorie Andrews!"

A small girl, at about twelve, quivers in fear as she walks slowly to the podium. Scarlett greets her with a smile and a pat on the shoulder, then moves on to call the other female tribute. I brace myself.

"Maysilee Donner!" she calls out. I spin around, meeting my sister's blue eyes. Like mine. Maysilee gives me a hug, and walks to the podium.

There must be _something_ I could do to stop this madness. I stare at the ground. It's all I could do to stop myself from shrieking, "You must have the wrong girl!" and bursting into tears. Scarlett immediately turns to the boys' globe, stirring it like a pot and finally choosing to bring out a scrap of paper.

"Terry Pane!" Scarlett cries out. A boy about my age scurries to the podium, in order to stop the tears from flowing. Scarlett grins at him creepily and pulls out another piece of paper.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"

There's something wrong here I couldn't quite place. A tall teenage boy from the Seam (I know, I've seen him wander around town) goes forward. Scarlett wraps up and heads back to her seat.

Then I realize it. Scarlett did not ask for volunteers. Must be a Quarter Quell thing.

* * *

I chew on my fingernails. I glance at my parents, who are standing beside me. The Peacekeepers speak with my parents, and let us into the Justice Building.

The instant I see Maysilee, I burst into tears. We embrace, and she pats my back, murmuring, "It'll be alright." again and again. Suddenly, our parents join us and we all wail and bawl until Maysilee cries, "Stop! Stop!"

We break apart. Maysilee gazes at all of us, her blue eyes meeting mine. "Listen—especially you, Maribelle," Maysilee says firmly. We all nod, waiting for her to continue. "You can't stop living when I'm gone. I won't forgive you for that, ever."

"We promise," I reply, finally finding my voice, "if you agree to our terms as well."

"What could I do?" Maysilee says. Then, she sees the look on our faces—serious. She grimaces. "Okay, okay, jeez, go on. What do you want from me?" she grumbles.

Mother smiles at Maysilee. "Oh, just your promise that you come home," Mother says casually. Mother gets all buddy-buddy and casual when she's worried. Also her thin lips are more visible, during a bad time like this.

"Me…? Win? Come home?" Maysilee says, as if she's in a daze or something. She looks up and smiles dreamily, saying, "That would be heaven…" she drifts off.

We hug once more. "Wait," says Father. "I forgot something."

He kisses Maysilee, and I see him press something onto her hand. He also whispers something inaudible to Maysilee. Then, I come forward and take him away before the Peacekeepers could do so.

My parents and I go down quietly. The elevator is a living hell for all those who ride in it. First of all, it smells horrible—like all the Peacekeepers in the world just farted or something—and it smells like sweat. That's just the beginning. Don't get me started on everything else.

In the lobby, I find Delilah weeping. Once the Peacekeepers see us get out of the elevator, they prod Delilah. She walks to the elevator and disappears.

We head home, not saying a word along the way.


	2. Nightmares

**Chapter two. Sorry if I don't update really fast. :)**

**Please review. :D**

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"Maribelle," a voice shouts. By the volume, I could tell she's right in front of my room. "Maribelle Donner!"

"Go," I scream back. "Go. Away!" I dive under the blankets, as if my friend is actually a tall, grimy monster who wants to take over the world.

"Maribelle Donner!" the voice gets louder and louder by the minute. "Maribelle Donner, if you don't let me in, I'm going to kick your door open!" she adds. I get off my bed, and open the door to let my friend in. She smiles at me, and hangs her coat on the doorknob.

"Delilah." I say quietly. Then I suppose this is the time I get aggressive. "What do you want?" I snap at her. Delilah flinches, and takes a step back. I threaten her with a pillow. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" I scream this time.

"Jeez," she says, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to say hello. What's wrong with that?" I lower my pillow. Delilah walks to the door and puts her coat on. "Anyway…if you don't want me here, I suppose I'll just go back to the wretched apothecary and watch the replay of the reaping _alone._" Her voice turns soft—yet angry—and emphasizes 'alone'.

"Fine!" I reply, folding my arms. Delilah closes the door—rather loudly—without another word. I bury my head in my dress and start bawling…for Delilah, for my parents…and for Maysilee.

* * *

"Mother, I feel terrible," I tell my mother. Her concerned face looms over me with a damp towel. "Nngh…"

"Oh, honey, it'll be all right," Mother replies gently. "Just go to sleep." I nod, and take in one last look of the room before I close my eyes. At that moment, I wish I hadn't.

I hear a scream. I spin around, looking for the source of the shriek.

"Help! Help!" cries my sister. A boy comes running to her—the teenage boy from the Seam, Haymitch Abernathy—and throws his knife at the Career boy from District 1. The knife soon embeds itself into his thigh. The boy—who seems to be about sixteen or seventeen—cries out in pain.

"Maysilee!" I want to shout, but I seem to have lost my voice. The boy from District One thrusts Haymitch away. Soon, he has pinned my sister to the ground, preparing to stab her with his knife.

I want so badly to scream, but I could not as my dream shifts.

It's Delilah, this time. Her blond hair gleams in the sunlight, and trees flourish all around her. I look around some more, and find that the ground is decorated with endless paths of grass. I realize with a jolt that we are in the woods. But I decide to watch Delilah some more.

My best friend wanders around the forest, and finds a river of some sort. She jumps in, and swims to the bank of the river. She picks a few katniss roots and manages to strangle a duck.

Delilah sees a berry bush similar to the one where I picked my blackberries. She picks plenty, and even pops a few into her mouth. Then, her eyes grow wide, and her hands fly to her stomach.

"Delilah!" I lose my voice _again._

Her face contorts in pain, and soon, she's on the floor, convulsing. Delilah's hands are still on her stomach, holding on to dear life. Immediately, her eyes close and her face relaxes. Her hands go slack, as well. It takes a while—and a close examination of the berries—before I actually realize the truth of what happened.

Nightlock. One drop is all it takes to bring you down.

I wake up screaming. Mother rushes to me with another damp towel. I shove it away, and keep screaming my head out, not caring if I suddenly lost my voice from screaming.

"Come," says a man's voice. I look up. It's Dad, with his lemon-yellow hair and piercing blue eyes. He's definitely the quiet type, and he rarely talks to me. So whenever he does, I tend to listen. "Let's watch the replay of the reaping."

He pulls me out of my bed and carries—more of drags—me downstairs. He turns on the television, and puts me down on the couch.

"Watch." He murmurs to me. I nod, because I know better than to cross my dad. He sits down on the chair beside me, and we watch silently as Scarlett calls out the first female tribute. Then, she calls Maysilee. At that moment, all cameras are on my pale face, still trying to register the shock. Scarlett calls the male tributes. It's the first time I actually get a good look at them.

Terry Pane is a small blond boy who always fidgets. I've seen him around and even talked to him once or twice. He stutters a lot, and always rubs his fingers for some reason.

Haymitch Abernathy—the guy in my dream—is the exact opposite of Terry Pane. He has that same look that only seems to live in people from the Seam—dark brown hair and gray eyes.

Before I know it, Scarlett dances back to her seat and the screen projects the Capitol's seal. Dad rolls his eyes, and we both wait for the screen to go black. And it does.

Mother takes my hand, and murmurs, "Are you feeling all right?" which I answer with a brief shake of my head. She brings me back to my bedroom, and puts another cool cloth on my forehead. This time I don't shove it away.

I pass out. Thankfully, my dreams do not appear again. But I still twist and turn under my blankets, in fear that the boy with the knife will come back again.

* * *

"Maribelle!" I keep hearing. "Maribelle!"

I wake up, drenched in cold sweat. Looming over me is no other than Delilah. How wonderful. "Delilah!" I nearly shout. She grins at me, and places a cool cloth on my forehead. "Why are you here?" I could not help asking.

"I decided to play doctor for a while," she replies. I smile.

"Isn't managing an apothecary enough?" I ask her, giving her a wink. She chuckles, but quickly turns serious again. "You're seriously not here to skip work?" I tease my best friend. She makes a face.

"You should be thankful," she says scornfully. I give her a questioning look. "You should be thankful that I'm kind enough to tend to you."

"I do not recall asking for your help, thank you very much," I reply with just as much disdain. She gazes at the scenery outside the window.

"Ouch." Delilah finally turns back to me, and makes a face. "I cannot believe I actually like it better with you asleep."

"Hmph," I say. "Whatever. You just have to deal with it." Delilah ignores me, and continues looking out the window. "Do you think the odds are in her favor?"

Delilah looks at me sadly. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about," she whispers, holding back tears. "I _don't_ think the odds are in her favor." I give her an inquisitive look. She shakes her head.

"Never mind. Forget I said anything."


	3. Sisterly Charms

"Argh. Mom, my head hurts." I say, in a hoarse voice. I place my hand on my forehead, but quickly remove it, as my forehead is burning hot to the touch.

"Are you alright, baby?" says Mother, taking a damp cloth and setting it down on my forehead. She touches my forehead, but quickly flinches. "You're hot."

I nod. "Yes, I am." I reply. Mother looks at me with an anxious look on her face. Then, I feel pain. A sharp pain, like somebody just cut me with a knife. "Ow!" I say, my hands flying to my forehead.

My eyelids flutter, and everything goes fuzzy. My eyes close before I realize it. The last thing I see is a pair of blue eyes and a head full of lemon-yellow hair.

* * *

I wake up, and glance at the window. It is already dark—about seven o' clock. I look around the room, expecting my mother to be asleep on a chair, apparently waiting for me to arise. But nobody is sitting on the chair—let alone sleeping.

I yawn, and head downstairs. Mother and Father are sitting on the couch. I try to approach them, but everything just goes fuzzy again. I hold on to a chair for support.

Father notices me. "Do you feel well?" he asks me in his deep voice. I shrug my shoulders. So he changes the question. "Do you feel well enough to watch the Hunger Games?"

That, I know the answer to. I shake my head no. "No…but I'll watch anyway," I quickly add, because whoever does not watch the Games will be severely punished. I don't know exactly how, but it's never pleasant.

Mother gets up from the couch. "Come on," she tells me. "Go back and sleep. The Capitol does not have to know that." She gives me a wink. I try to laugh, but instead of a laugh, I hear a hoarse, raspy sound. I quickly clap my hand over my mouth. Mother chuckles, and the harmonious sound of her laughter fills the room.

She walks me to my room, painted white by my father. "Go to sleep," she advises me, and tucks me in. "It'll do you more good."

"But what about the training scores?" I ask anxiously. Mother smiles at me.

"I'll tell you about them when you wake up," she replies, stroking my blond hair. "Hold on, I'll get you a glass of water." She gets up, and comes back with a glass full of mineral water and ice. Ice. A rare item to come by these days. Not that everybody needs it anyway. "Drink," she tells me as she presses the glass to my cracked lips. I take a few sips. Overcome by the refreshing feeling of ice, I drift off.

"I'll be back," Mother says, kissing my forehead.

When I come to, a pair of blue eyes greets me. "Mother," I croak. She smiles at me. Then I remember her promise.

"Did Maysilee—"

"Ten," she interrupts, with a silly grin on her face. "Ten! She got a _ten!"_ Mother grins again, and embraces me. Her dancing eyes meet my serious ones. "Oh, sorry. Got a little too excited…" she mutters sheepishly.

"How long was I out?" I ask her.

"Hmm…about a day?" she replies. I peer at the scenery outside, and find daylight. Last time I checked, it was as dark as midnight. "We'll be having the interviews tomorrow."

I try to smile at my mother. "I'll watch, I suppose."

"Oh, I do hope she does well," Mother says anxiously. Her face pales, and she blinks back tears. "I don't know what I'd do without both of you." She hugs me. Did I mention that my mother could be extremely dramatic at times?

"It's all right. She could win this. I just know it," I reply. I see the look on her face. "I just know—she's a fighter. She'll win this. I know it. The odds are in her favor." I try reassuring Mom.

She looks from side to side, and, turns back to me. "I do hope so. But…that's it. The odds are not in her favor." Mother whispers, then breaks down. "What would I do without you both?"

"What do you mean, 'the odds are not in her favor'?" I demand. But as I say that, I realize the answer. Quarter Quell. A terrible twist for the tributes—more deaths; more misery; more fun for the Capitol. So that's the one Delilah was talking about. Why didn't I see it before? It's so obvious.

"Oh, you won't understand," Mother murmurs, and pushes me back so I am lying down again. "You're just a child! Of course you wouldn't." She leaves the room, crying her eyes out.

* * *

The other female tribute, Lorie Andrews, is called. She hops to Caesar, her dark hair glimmering in the light. Caesar greets her with a smile.

"So, Lorie, how are you?" Caesar asks gently. Lorie remains emotionless, but lets out a barely audible answer. Caesar holds the microphone to her mouth.

"—just sad," she finishes. Caesar bombs her with questions, which she answers with a 'yes' or a 'no' or maybe even a little comment.

Just before her time finishes, Caesar asks her, "Is there anything you would like to say to anybody in your district? Maybe a boy, or whatever." The crowd laughs.

"Well, I would like to say something to my sister, Lilo," she replies timidly. "I would like to tell you that if I die, you will be alone. And no matter what, I won't let that happen," she adds firmly. Caesar smiles at her, and the crowd goes, "Aww."

"Oh, looks like our time is up," Caesar says, checking his watch. "Best of luck to you, Lorie Andrews, first tribute from District Twelve!"

He calls my sister, who walks to him in a black miner's jumpsuit. Except she wears a skirt, instead of a pair of pants.

"Maysilee. What a wonderful dress you're wearing," Caesar says to her. She smiles at him, and does a little curtsy. Caesar bows at her in return.

"Thank you," she replies. "I would like to direct the credit to my wonderful stylist, Leigh." A woman with flaming red hair—who must be Leigh—stands up and bows.

"So." Caesar says. "Did you ever wish you lived in the Capitol?" Maysilee smiles, but shakes her head no.

"I'd never wish that," Maysilee says quietly. "I mean, the Capitol's wonderful and all, with its exotic foods and creative people, but I love my district more, I'm afraid."

Caesar smiles at her gently. "What do you think of the Hunger Games?" he asks in a delicate tone.

"I think the Hunger Games is very unnecessary and if we continue this behavior towards our fellowmen, we would all die out. Forever," she replies solemnly. Caesar nods sympathetically.

So my sister's playing wise girl. Not that she's bad at it. She's already convinced everyone with her words. Even Caesar, who has already pulled out a handkerchief and blowing his nose. He wipes his eyes, in an attempt to capture the crowd's attention.

"Such wonderful words, Maysilee," he says, wiping his eye. "Like fuel to a fire…fueling the ever growing flames representing the citizens' need for entertainment." The crowd laughs.

"You're right there, Caesar," my sister says, giggling.

"What's your definition of home?" Caesar asks, checking his watch. It's clear from the look of his face that time is almost up for Maysilee.

"My friends and family," Maysilee answers instantly. "Especially my best friends, Maribelle and Delilah."

Caesar smiles, but quickly scowls as he says, "Time is up! Best of luck to you, Maysilee Donner!"


	4. Meet Gregor Undersee

**I really tried to get Mr. Undersee involved in this one. I do hope you like it. (:

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Father switches the television off. I sigh, completely hopeless, even if the Games haven't officially started. Then, I feel an emotion I never felt before. Yet it's quite obvious. Rage.

"Are you all right, dear?" Mother asks me.

"Yeah, I am, what do you care anyway?" I snap protectively. I have no idea why I am so defensive all of a sudden. Father shoots me a warning look.

"Listen, and listen good, young lady," he warns. "If you snap again, you would not be allowed to go out of the house." Father, irrational, cranky, mean Father. Imprisonment at home? For snapping? What the heck?

But Mother is a little more merciful. "Hush, Patrick. Just send her to bed early," she tells him. Mother can be dramatic, yes, but she knows when to play nice.

"Fine," Father grumbles. "But just because you asked, Maya." Mother gives me a look. A _why-don't-you-leave-this-to-us-adults-and-go-to-your-room_ look. I willingly obey.

I tuck myself in and close my eyes. Yet sleep does not come due to my head ailments. So I crawl out of my bed and quietly creep past my parents' room. I climb down the stairs, careful with my steps. I trudge to the door, and open it, just a bit. I head out, shutting the door behind me.

I roam around for a while. Most of the townspeople are already asleep, so they probably won't see me. But soon, the town's clean streets are too little for me. I wander out of town, and into the Meadow.

I have only been to the Meadow once, where I picked wildflowers for Maysilee's birthday. It's a sanctuary I like to think of when I'm sad. The darkness soothes me. I stray around the Meadow, seeing nothing but silhouettes of plants and trees.

But then I see a bizarre silhouette. It looks like a boy, sitting down, head on hands, elbows on knees. I approach the silhouette. Maybe I'm hallucinating. Maybe this is just an effect of the headache. I probably am hallucinating. Who would be out here in the middle of the night?

"Hi," I whisper. "Good evening."

He looks at me. So I'm not hallucinating. Great. I haven't gone mad yet. "Hello," he whispers back. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm admiring the moon. Isn't it beautiful?" he says with reverence. He looks at me. "I'm Gregor Undersee." He holds out his hand for me to shake.

I shake it. "Maribelle Donner." I reply. He smiles, and goes back to admiring the moon, which is somewhere between a full moon and a half moon. I decide to stay and admire it with him.

"Do you know about constellations?" he asks suddenly. I shrug. Honestly, I don't know a thing about constellations. It just was never a thing I was interested in. Until now. "Well, I love constellations. See, that one's the Big Dipper." Gregor points to a group of stars forming a ladle. My head relaxes a little.

"And that one's Orion," he says, pointing to another group of stars. I sigh contentedly. He looks at me strangely. "You seem to love constellations."

"I never noticed until now." I admit. He chuckles. His laugh wafts through the cool air, like music. I love it. "The moon looks strange today. I've never seen it before."

"That?" he asks lightheartedly. "That's a gibbous moon. It's wonderful, isn't it?"

We go back to staring at the night sky. Gregor's platinum blond hair is silver in the moonlight. Then, he turns to me. "So, Mayabelle, make a wish."

"It's Maribelle." I reply. "And why would I make a wish? My wish is already coming true." I gasped softly, and clapped my hand over my mouth. Gregor just laughs, so I add hastily, "You know, staring at the night sky…couldn't see it in my backyard."

"Mine, too," he confesses. "It's getting late, Maribelle. Shouldn't you be getting home? Your parents would be worried sick about you."

"What about you? I can't just leave you here!" I reply, very irritated. "Your siblings, your parents would be worried." There. That should convince him. Nobody, as far as I know, does not care about their family.

"I'm an only child. And anyway, do you really think I'll let you walk home alone?" he says. "Who knows what could happen." He stands up. "I'll walk you home," he adds after seeing the look on my face.

"Wait, Mar," he says. Great. I have a new pet name. He kneels to the ground, and takes something, which he hides in his pocket. "All right, let's go." We were at the back of the Meadow, so it's a long way to the entrance.

"I loved how your sister performed," says Gregor. Jeez. Why'd he have to bring it up now? He knows it affects me. Gregor knows a lot of things. What doesn't he know, I wonder?

How hard it is to lose a sibling. Gregor is an only child. He does not know how hard it is to lose a sibling. Of course, there is still a chance that Maysilee will win and return victorious, but what happens if she doesn't?

"You don't know how much it hurts," I reply darkly, but holding back tears. "I don't want my sister to die. It's my fault if she does. I should have volunteered for her."

Gregor does not look surprised. "I-I know how you feel. One time, my mom's ring got stuck on the roof, and my canary tried to get it. But it was eaten by a hawk. Don't ask how the ring got there. But the point is, I should have been the one to get the ring," he says. I stand there, stunned. How could he compare my sister to a stupid canary?

He sees the look on my face. "Oh, um, but my canary's death is nothing compared to your sister's pain right now," he adds hastily. "And anyway, you couldn't have volunteered, Scarlett wasn't asking for any."

"You're right, I suppose." I reply gloomily. He couldn't possibly understand. "But what if Maysilee dies?"

Gregor looks at me. "That would not happen. And even if that happens, you'll get over it, right?" he asks hopefully. He places his arm around me. "She can do it. I know it. Your sister's resourceful, and very talented, at that…" he trails off.

"Gregor, it's getting late, you should go home now. I'll take it from here," I interrupt.

"All right," he says casually. "I'll see you tomorrow, same place, same time?" I nod readily. "Here, take this flower," he adds, taking a primrose out of his pocket. "I'm very sorry about your sister, Maribelle. Good night." And he walks away, just like that.

I sigh, and head home, which is easily, what, five, ten meters away? I quietly open the door, and creep back to my room. The soft rug is heaven to my feet. It's so good to be home once again. I fill a vase with water, and place my pink primrose in it.

I crawl into my bed, and drift off sooner than I expected. My head hurts considerably less, and my dreams are much sweeter.

I dream of the Meadow, actually. Gregor is in it, surprisingly. It involves flowers and primroses and constellations and even moons. I wake up, feeling wonderful, and relaxed.

Until I saw a pair of angry faces looming over me.


	5. Let The Games Begin!

**Sorry for the slow update, everyone! I was really busy with school. I will update faster next time, I promise!**

"Where have you been, young lady?" Mother shrieks. "No note, no nothing! We've been looking everywhere for you—except the Seam, of course, but who'd want to go in there?—but that is besides the point. We haven't had a wink of sleep! Look at these eye bags!" Mother points to the dark circles just forming under her eyes.

"That's right, Maribelle! You should be ashamed of yourself!" thunders Father. He looks at Mother. "Well, Maya? Does this give me enough reason to punish her?"

"Not punish. Ground. There, the deprivation of something she wants will definitely discipline our daughter." Mother replies, as if I am not there, listening to their every word.

"But why didn't you grill me about this last night?" I retort.

"When we were back home after a fruitless night of looking for you, guess where we found you?" Father shouts nastily. I could almost imagine fire shooting out of his nose. "In your bed, fast asleep."

"Yes, that's right, young lady!" Mother agrees. "Maribelle, you're grounded. You're not allowed to get out of the house except for school and important events. No, you can't even visit the apothecary and say hi to Delilah. No. And that's that."

"Your mother's right." Father spits. "We put food on your table! We give you a roof to sleep under and a bed to sleep in! We give you a good education! And this is how you repay us!"

"If you ask me, you're being too difficult. All the other girls my age go off by themselves. So why couldn't I?" I snap angrily. I don't care if my parents tell me off again.

My parents ignore my tone. "Why couldn't you? It's because we don't trust you anymore!" Father booms. "So you have to work real hard to regain our trust!"

Somehow, he does not strike me as the 'scary' kind of dad. I have a strong suspicion that my own father is afraid of words with more than ten letters. In my record, the longest word he ever said was 'eventually'.

I try to formulate a plan. This lecture wouldn't last long…if I do something about it.

So I decide to play good girl. I hang my head in mock shame. "I'm so sorry, Father, Mother. I do promise that I won't do that again. And I am sorry for snapping at you earlier." I say. I swear that I forgot to say something—possibly my explanation as to why I went out—but my parents don't count it.

Mother pats my back. Her face is still stern, but it softened a little while I was saying my 'apology'. "We know you're sorry, but don't scare us like that! We thought you were sick."

"I am," I remind her. Then, I say the only grain of truth in the story. "Well, my head hurt, and I decided to take a little walk to clear it. But I really didn't mean to worry you," I quickly add.

The angry-and-stern-but-very-protective-of-his-daughter look on Father's face vanishes slowly at my words. Ha. I completely charmed my parents, who are supposed to see through ruses like this. "I know you're sorry, Maribelle, but you are not to leave your room until the show starts."

The way he said _show_ made me think: Is the Hunger Games really just a show for the Capitol? A show, as Father put it, where innocent kids fight to the death? It's a slow torture for the districts, but for the Capitol… it's just a _show?_ My mind is overflowing with questions, but I do not ask them.

So I nod, slowly. "All right." I say softly and timidly.

"Good," Father replies sternly. I can't believe they let me off that easy. Oh, well. I'm still grounded. "Now go up. We don't want to see your face until the Games start. We've had enough of you."

I hurry up the stairs, not wanting to look at them either. But I linger about a second long enough to hear my mother burst into tears. My father comforts her, but guilt has overcome Maya Donner at the moment.

My head is throbbing badly. I creep into my bed, and decide to take a short nap. Well, I guess this is when short becomes _shorter_. Nightmares practically live in my head nowadays, waiting for a chance to emerge and destroy me, little by little. Like now.

My dreams are quite gory, but I find them kind of satisfying, to be honest. President Snow coughing out a lot of blood, then dying. The Hunger Games being over. That would be a dream-come-true. But I doubt it'll happen. President Snow's been the president of Panem ever since I could remember.

I wake up. It's already dark. I hear an ear-deafening song. It's Maysilee's canary again. I sigh, and head downstairs. My parents are probably in the square. Oh well. I switch on the television, only to regret it.

The tributes are in the arena. The arena is practically _perfect_, with green grasses and a breathtaking mountain overhead. A river flows energetically, waiting for the new tributes to drink its water. It's easy to win in this arena.

It is a little _too_ easy. The gong sounds, and the tributes are off their metal plates. Some tributes like Haymitch and Maysilee are off their plates immediately. Other tributes are just as shocked as I am, surveying the beautiful arena.

My hand grips the remote control as the camera flashes in on Maysilee. She rushes to the Cornucopia, and grabs the nearest backpack available. It is a great strategy, I must admit—but the downside is: the size of the backpack.

It's so tiny. But that doesn't stop Maysilee from getting good supplies: a bowl, some dried beef and a blowgun with two dozen darts. But compared to the others, it's merely just _acceptable_. I mean one blowgun is better than no blowgun, right? It's good for long-distance shooting.

But I know that knives are clearly the better choice; I wonder how Maysilee is going to kill someone with a dart?

What I didn't know was that everything in the arena—from the delicious looking fruit hanging from the bushes to the crystal clear water flowing quickly—was poisonous in one way or another. I contemplate on how the tributes could use this to their advantages.

My unspoken question is answered when Maysilee dips her darts into the poisonous water. Of course! Darts aren't really deadly, but poison is when it comes into contact with someone. Right?

The camera flashes in on the Cornucopia. Twenty-five or so tributes are fighting to the death over some backpacks. About a dozen bodies are already lying on the ground, helpless and dead.

Soon, day turns into night for the tributes. All of a sudden, the anthem plays, and the Capitol seal appears. When the anthem is finished, the faces of the tributes start to appear. Thankfully, neither Haymitch nor Maysilee appears.

I count the number of faces that appear. Eighteen. Thirty tributes left.

My hands join together, and my lips start forming a silent prayer as Mother taught me. _Oh, God, please don't let Maysilee die. She doesn't deserve to die, please, God, just don't let my sister die!_


	6. An Unexpected Visitor

**Again, sorry for the late update. I've had writer's block for a long time and it's only now that I want to open my file and write. Sorry, guys. Don't forget to review and favorite!**

**Oh, I forgot to add a disclaimer: The Hunger Games and all characters in this FanFiction belong to Suzanne Collins. If it belonged to me, I wouldn't let Prim and Finnick die.**

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I switch the television off when the 'show' finished for today, marking the end of the first day. I groan, remembering the bloodbath at the Cornucopia…the helpless bodies lying on the ground…

Then I realize, if this is traumatizing for me, it must be ten times more traumatizing for Maysilee. I place a hand on my throbbing head. This keeps getting better and better.

Lost in my thoughts, I let go of the remote control and head back to my room, robotically. I tuck myself in bed, but I stare at the ceiling, the idea of sleep far away from my restless mind.

I start to drift off when I hear an odd tapping sound coming from the window. It couldn't be my parents—they find tapping on windows 'uncivilized' and 'barbaric'. Plus, they must be home by now. So I wonder, who could it be?

I walk over to the window tiredly. I peer down, and see a face grinning at me. Yet I could not pinpoint who it is as his face is covered. But I could tell it is a man. "W-Who the h-heck are you and w-what are you d-doing at my h-house in the m-middle of the n-night?" I manage to stammer.

"Hello, Maribelle," he shouts. I recognize the voice. It's Gregor, my little friend from the previous night.

I roll my eyes. "Shh! You don't need to shout. I can hear you just fine. Plus, my parents will wake up!" I reply. Then I hesitate. I think of Gregor, who could be sleeping peacefully right now. But he's here, visiting me. My heart softens. "On second thought, come on in, Gregor." I add reluctantly. "Just don't make any noise as you come up, alright?"

Gregor climbs the tree next to my window. He perches on the branch, waiting for me to pull him in. And I do pull him in, smoothly and noiselessly. "Thanks, Maribelle." Gregor says, flashing me a smile. "Sorry for disturbing you at this very late hour."

Are you out of your mind, Gregor? We've only met yesterday, and you're already tapping on windows and waiting to be pulled in by a girl you've happened to meet randomly? I have plenty of questions, but I do not ask them. If you have something mean to say, don't say anything at all, my parents always taught me. "That's fine, Gregor. I don't mind at all."

Gregor reads my mind. "Oh, I—I was just wondering if you were all right after seeing your sister in the Games. I mean, it's a traumatic experience, and I just wanted to check on you, even if we did just meet yesterday," he says, answering my unspoken question.

"I'm all right, Gregor. Just have a little headache, that's all…" I answer him, giving him a smile despite of my throbbing head. But I guess my hand could not resist placing itself on my forehead, as Gregor's expression grows anxious. "Okay, a terrible headache. Ow…"

"Get in bed, Maribelle." Gregor says anxiously, but solemnly. "You really need to sleep."

"No, it's all right. No need to worry about me, Gregor, really! I mean, all this time you used visiting me could have been used for sleeping! So please, stay and make yourself comfortable." I tell him desperately. I really want him to stay, even if I have only known him for a day.

"All right, if that makes you happy, Maribelle." Gregor says, smiling at me. "Besides, I can't sleep anyway."

"Why on Earth not?" I ask him. He hesitates. "Tell me, Gregor. I'm all ears. Tell me everything that is on your mind. Please, Gregor." I don't know why I am pleading with him, but I guess I just want to relate with another person suffering emotionally.

And no, that does not necessarily mean that I want everyone to be suffering just so I can relate to them. I just want someone to talk to, someone who can tell me about the burden they are carrying.

"All right, I will tell you, Maribelle. But you have to promise to keep this a secret and not tell anyone at school." Gregor says reluctantly. Then he muttered, "I don't really like talking about it and if everyone heard, soon I'll always be talking about it…"

"Of course I promise, Gregor." I promise seriously. I nod for him to get on with it.

"My sister Jean was reaped three years ago. Remember? Forty-seventh Games—the one with the frozen wasteland. And, well, she died on the very first day. I saw it, right on television. She froze to death." Gregor explains quietly and glumly. "I hate winter now because of that."

I nod slowly, digesting his story little by little. Of course I remember that Games. It was practically a freezer in there. The winner was from District One—a flirty fifteen year old girl named Shimmer who tricked everyone into forming alliances with her. And then, she backstabbed them later, as if their alliance was nothing after all.

"Oh" is all I could say. "O—Of course I remember." I fidget. Attempting to make more conversation, I add, "The victor was Shimmer, right?" Gregor nods.

"I hate Shimmer. That's not how a victor should act like." Gregor says.

"Then how do you think a victor should act like?" I ask him. It's not like I want to contradict him; I agree with him one hundred percent on that perspective of a victor. A victor shouldn't act like Shimmer—making friends with someone and then backstabbing them later? Not good. That's why no one is really the same after winning the Hunger Games.

"I think a victor should act noble… and not like Shimmer. A victor should be concerned on not letting others suffer the same pain he had." Gregor said wisely. I know what he's referring to. He wants a victor to contribute to the cause of a rebellion; a rebellion that will topple the Capitol rule. I nod at him.

We stay up late talking about all sorts of stuff: basically the Games, town gossip, friends, classmates, the Games… It is about one a.m. when Gregor decides to leave. "Bye, Gregor. It was nice talking with you. Thanks for coming." I say politely, just like my mother had taught me. Though when we were talking, we were like best friends, now is different. I have to be polite to everyone, no matter how close we are in terms of friendship.

"No, no, Maribelle, thank you. It was really nice finally getting to unload everything on my chest." Gregor replied coolly. And with his last sentence ringing in my ears, he disappeared into the night.


	7. Some Advice

**Hello, again. Sorry for not updating. T_T**

******Okay, here's your chapter. I do not own the Hunger Games, blah blah blah. 'Cause like I said, if I owned it, I wouldn't let Finnick and Prim die.**

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Second day of the freaking Hunger Games, I think to myself. Last night had been a blur. I remember everything we talked about, from the Hunger Games to Gregor's deceased sister. It had been good talking about our problems, but I guess it also had its bad side, as my headache is much worse than last night.

I have no appetite, either. Mother forces me to finish my oatmeal, and tells me that not everyone can be as lucky as I am. But that's not true. Everyone is way luckier than I am. Their sister and best friend isn't in the Games, I want to tell her. But being taught to respect my elders, I just gulp down my cold oatmeal silently.

When I finish my wretched meal, Mother tells me, "You look pale today Maribelle." And Father adds, "Are you feeling all right, child?"

I lie and nod. "I'm fine, Mother, Father. Don't worry about me. Really. I'm fine."

"All right. Sit down, will you, Maribelle? I have to talk to you about something. It's something really important—" Mother says, pausing dramatically. "—Something that will change your future."

"What is it?" I could not help asking.

"You know, all your father and I wanted was for you and Maysilee to have a good future. And we figured that if you build your relationships early, you can have the best future we can give you." Mother says vaguely. Oh. I figured this would happen. Forced marriage—people do that a lot in District Twelve. About eighty percent of the marriages in town are forced.

But since I'm only fifteen, I'm only just going to 'build my relationships', just as Mother had put it. Then, later I can marry. This sort of thing is not unusual, either. Many parents do this to their daughters. Thus, I have nothing to be worried about.

"That's fine with me, Mom," I say honestly. Really, it is, because if my forced marriage will make my parents happy, I will be happy too. "I know what you're talking about, Mom. But who is this lucky guy?" I ask her. Mother's face lights up in pleasure.

"His name is Gregor Undersee." Mother says softly. She grins. "He's a true gentleman, Gregor…"

GREGOR! Of all people, it has to be Gregor Undersee? Well, I suppose I have to be glad since I know him. And I can personally testify that Gregor is not a bad person, even if I have only known him for a little while…

Maybe it's time I tell Mother the truth. But if I tell her about my meeting Gregor, she would know where I went that night I went 'missing'. Maybe Mother does not need to know now. So I lie. "That's great, Mother!" I say. "When will I get to meet Gregor?"

"Today." Mother says, beaming. "He'll be coming just before the Games start showing. Your father and I will be out in the town square, so I'll leave you two to get acquainted during the period of time we are gone."

I nod. "All right, Mother. I do hope Gregor turns out to be a great man." I reply.

I stand up, and decide to leave. Maybe I'll go and visit Delilah, and ask her for some medicines for my headache. I open the door, and run to Delilah's house as fast as my legs can take me. I have to tell Delilah about everything. Mother doesn't need to know the truth, but my best friend at least deserves it.

I knock on their back door. "Delilah?" I ask.

Delilah answers the door. Delilah was and always will be a pretty person, with her cheery blue eyes and soft blond hair. But today, she looks terrible. Her blue eyes have eye-bags under them and her blond hair is a mess. "Oh, hello, Maribelle." Delilah croaks. "What are you doing here?"

"I have to tell you something." I tell her. "Something urgent. Plus, I need to buy some medicine for my headache." Delilah nods, and goes into their store. After about two minutes, she comes back, holding a vial with pink liquid inside.

"Here you go, Maribelle. If it's getting really bad, come back and I will ask my mom to give you some morphling." Delilah says, handing me the vial of medicine. "Do come in, Maribelle." She takes my hand, and pulls me in. She does not stop until we reach her room. Then she lets go of my hand. "So, what is it you wanted to tell me?" she asks.

And I tell her the story. About how Maysilee's Games have affected me so far, how I decided to take a walk, and how I met Gregor Undersee. I don't even omit Gregor's surprise visit. Thankfully, Delilah is a good listener, and does not interrupt. She does not speak until I finish, either.

"So basically, you lied to your parents about not knowing Gregor?" she asks.

I shrug. "Not really, it's just that I never told them about it."

"Oh." Delilah answers.

"There's something else I have to tell you." I say. And I enlighten her about how Mother wants me to 'build my relationship' with Gregor so that later we can marry. Delilah nods, and listens. She interrupts a few times—unlike a while ago—to ask questions, but they are not for naught, so I answer her questions the best I can.

"I see." Delilah says. She strokes her chin, like an old man stroking his beard. It's sort of funny, actually. But now's not the time to be laughing. Delilah's face is serious, and she raises her eyebrow, asking a question her mouth cannot. _You're telling me this… why?_

"I need your help. What do I do?" I plead.

"Why are you asking me? I know nothing about love and forced marriage. But I think all you can do right now is play along. There's nothing else you can do. You know this guy anyway, and that's better than a guy you don't know at all." Delilah answers wisely, like she was a complete pro at this love thing.

I nod slowly. "Okay… so I should just… do nothing?" I ask. Delilah nods. I shrug and smile at her. "Well, that sounds kind of easy to do… I—I guess…" I stammer. I feel like something is missing from this conversation. Maybe I forgot to tell her something? Oh. Now I remember.

"By the way, Delilah, Gregor's coming tonight."

Her eyes widen. "WHAT!" she exclaims.

"Yea. So what do you think I should do now?" I ask her.

"My advice for that is the same. Let it slide. Panicking and stuff will do nothing." Delilah answers. "Be cordial when Gregor comes, but don't go any further than that. Just treat him like you would treat an acquaintance, but don't treat him like he's some kind of crazy alien life form that's come to steal your heart."

Wow. I only just realized it, but how on Earth did Delilah know so much? It's not like she has a boyfriend or something. I could not help it, so I ask her, "Delilah, thanks a lot for the advice, but how on Earth did you know so much on stuff like this?"

She smiles at me wisely. "I've read about this kind of situation."

I nod. And I thank her one more time, and scurry back to the house. It's only then that I realized that maybe Delilah was lying about how she knew about that stuff.


	8. He Visits

I step into the shower, and let the smell of soap devour me. Oh, I have always loved the smell of soap. When I was younger, when I had a fight with a friend—or Maysilee—I had always looked forward to shower time. Soap clears my head often. Sadly, in this situation, not even soap can clear the hazy smoke—my thoughts—in my mind.

I sigh and finish up. I pull on some clothes—tonight, it's a turquoise dress, not my usual evening nightgown—and head back to my room to dry my hair and put on some makeup. Honestly, I hate makeup, but I can't argue with Mother—who went "Maribelle! Put on makeup or _else!_" when I first protested.

Once I finish drying my hair, I take my seat on my dresser table. A huge mirror had been propped up by Mother so I can see myself. She also laid out a basic makeup kit—just eyeliner, blush, mascara and lip gloss. We can't afford lipstick, and even Mother agrees that lip gloss is enough.

I grip the mascara, and start applying it on my eyes. But it only succeeds in making me look like a weird freak, so I put on some blush, too. But it makes me look worse. Ugh. This is so difficult. I think I have to start over. I head over to the bathroom and wash my face clean from all the makeup.

I exit the bathroom and sit down at my dresser table once again. I feel hopeless. I take the mascara—that is my favorite of all—and apply it again on my eyes. It looks better, I think. Last time I applied too much for my taste. I brush aside the blush and eyeliner, and add a bit of lip gloss on my lips.

There. Now Mother will have to be happy. Just in time, too, as Mother calls, "Maribelle, we're going now! Gregor will be here in ten minutes! Come on down here and present yourself to us!"

I sigh, and put on my sandals. "All right, Mother!"

I walk downstairs, hoping to delay the 'presentation'. But Mother is insistent. "Hurry up, now, Maribelle! We are sure you look _gorgeous!_ No need to be shy!" she shouts. I roll my eyes. I'm not shy. I just feel awkward. I mean, have you heard of another fifteen year old girl who wears makeup!

I arrive downstairs. Mother is sprawled out on the couch. Weird. Maybe Father already headed out into the square. "Hi, Mother."

"You look so beautiful, darling!" Mother hurries over and hugs me. She wipes a tear from her eye. "Oh, my little girl is growing up now…!" I groan inwardly. Oh, why does Mother have to be so dramatic?

"Tell me again, Mother, why do I have to wear makeup?" I ask her.

"Remember, Maribelle, you have to look presentable if you have a visitor who is not a close friend!" Mother reprimands mildly. "Don't ever forget that, and you'll be very successful. In District Twelve standards, of course." District Twelve standards! Since when do I want to be very successful in Capitol standards anyway?

"But wouldn't it be better if I show my true self to Gregor?" I insist. "I want him to like me for how I look naturally. I want him to like me for who I really am!"

"Of course he will. But remember, you never met Gregor before, right? So be presentable." Mother reminds me.

I desperately want to tell her the truth, that I _have_ met Gregor Undersee. But I just can't bring myself to tell her the truth. What, you want me to go, _Hey Mom I have to tell you something important: I do know Gregor Undersee. And you remember when you couldn't find me? I'm sorry because I was hanging out with him!_ Ridiculous… that would be suicide.

So instead I reply, "You are right, Mother."

She nods. "Of course I am, Maribelle. Now be a sweetie and close your eyes." Mother says. I squeeze my eyes shut. Ooh, a treat. Maysilee and I receive them whenever we help Mother with something, like planting her primroses. Or setting the table. Or cooking dinner. Or even when we don't really do anything. It's basically, a _treat_.

I open my hands, waiting for the reward. But Mother does not give it to me. She touches my hair a few times, and fiddles with it. When she gives me the signal, I open my eyes and head straight to the mirror.

It is a wonderful sight. Not my face, of course. But Mother's treat. On my blond hair sits a flower, one of Mother's prized primroses. Freshly picked; I could tell—its color is still as fresh as a raindrop. No signs of death or anything on it.

I head back to the living room. "Thanks a lot, Mother!" I say, hugging her tightly, never planning on letting her go.

"You're welcome, Maribelle, dearest." Mother replies. She kisses me on the cheek, and walks out the door, locking it behind her. I sigh, and wait on the couch, the remote control beside me. But I place the remote control far from me—I don't want the temptation of opening the television.

Around ten minutes after Mother left, I hear a knock on the door. It is a soft knock, but it's quick and snappy. _Thump, thump, thump_. It's like my heartbeat, in a way. _Thump, thump, thump, thump…_

Immersed in my thoughts, I get up and open the door. But a sight disrupts me from my thoughts. It's Gregor. He's wearing a tuxedo and a bowtie. His hair is all gelled up, making it look neater than last time. "Gregor!" I gasp.

"Maribelle! So that kind lady who invited me here… was your mother?" Gregor replies. At first, he is just as bewildered as I am. Suddenly, he begins to put the pieces together. "So… your mother, she does not know that we met before?" he asks. I shake my head. He sighs in relief. "That's great."

"Come in, Gregor." I tell him. He nods, and follows me into the living room.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Maribelle. A small favor, only." Gregor says.

"What is it?"

"Please remove your makeup. I want to see you for who you are." Gregor replies. Finally! Someone who understands me! Someone who sees me as beautiful for who I am, not for the makeup I wear. "Please, Maribelle. I think we both agree that you look more beautiful without it." Ooh, honest, too.

"You're right. Mother made me wear it." I reply, sighing. I head up to the bathroom and wash my face.

"You look much better," Gregor says to me once I get back. I nod, and turn on the television for the Hunger Games, which is mandatory viewing. If it wasn't, no one would be watching the Hunger Games. I mean, if you had a choice, would you watch the Hunger Games? I doubt it.

We watch the Games in silence. I pretend to be paying attention to the Games, just so it won't be as awkward as I feel it is. Gregor seems to be doing the same thing. Just when it finishes showing, Gregor says, "I wish I don't have to watch them die." Silence.

"Me too." I reply. Suddenly, out of the blue, my head feels like someone had hit it with Mother's shovel—hard. "Ow!" I exclaim, my hand settling on the origin of the pain. But the pain seems to be originating from everywhere, and it's too bad that my hand is too small to cover all spots.

"Are you all right, Maribelle?" Gregor asks anxiously. I shake my head. "Maribelle!" he exclaims. But I just groan. "I—I'll bring you to bed." Gregor says, unsure of what to do. He hoists me up, and walks me carefully up the stairs, back to my room. "I guess I'll go now," he says once I am in bed. "Bye, Maribelle."

"No, Gregor, stay." I want to croak. But instead I say, "Goodbye, Gregor."


	9. A Short Intermission: Ally

I could not sleep.

I have not been able to, ever since the Games started—or, to be more precise, ever since they carted me off from District Twelve and away from Maribelle. I remember the room we shared—the two beds with only a table to separate them. I push the thought away, though, as it brings tears to my eyes.

So I try to think of something happier. But sleeping in a tree does not help much.

It is impossible. I can only remember the bloody deaths of Terry and Lorie. How the Career from Four speared through Lorie's body, like Lorie was just another dummy in the Training Center. How Terry was stabbed with a dagger when he was reaching for a backpack near the Cornucopia.

Suddenly, I hear leaves rustling.

"Who's there!" I ask, loading my dart gun and pointing at the leaves above me. "Show yourself!" I demand bravely. Inwardly, though, I was whimpering and cowering. But I cannot afford to do that now. For all I know, it might be a Career above me, waiting for the right moment to kill me.

The leaves rustle some more. A human's leg sticks out. Then I hear a scream. "Aah!" cries the person above me. The person is clearly a girl, from the scream to the appearance of the leg.

I do not dare scream, though. "Holy Snow!" I say softly. I pull the leg, and the girl drops down to my branch "Who are you?" I ask her, not impolitely. The girl has tangled dark brown hair and sea-green eyes. It is clear she is from District Four. But she doesn't look like a Career…

"My name is Mary," says the girl. "Mary Cresta. From District Four."

"Maysilee. Maysilee Donner." I introduce myself. "A—Are you a Career?" I ask, just to be sure. Mary shakes her head, and I sigh in relief. "That's good."

"I—I'm running from the Careers, actually." Mary informs me. "It was very tiring. Good thing you've got no one to run from, Maysilee. But that Haymitch Abernathy looks kind of scary." I nod and smile, but in truth, I am studying Mary's face. She looks to be about thirteen, and as she just told me, she is not a Career.

"So tell me about yourself." I say.

And she does. Mary is thirteen, just like I suspected. She has an older sister, Amy, an older brother, Todd, and a twin sister, Mimi. She has a twin too. Wow. Coincidence, I guess. "Oh, I have a twin too!" I exclaim. "Her name is Maribelle."

"Maribelle…" Mary says quietly. "It's such a pretty name."

I agree with her completely.

And after a few minutes of talking, I go to sleep. This time, though, I am not alone anymore. Little did I know that the next day, I would no longer be an ally; I would be alone again.

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**That's right. Mary is related to Annie. Todd is Annie's dad. It was just something that popped into my head all of a sudden. **


	10. A Short Intermission II: Confession

**Mary's confession is also a product of my crazy imagination. And Maysilee being lazy.. if you read the second paragraph carefully, you'll see.**

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"Good morning, Maysilee." Mary's cheery voice enters my ears and wakes me up.

"Nngh. What's wrong, Mary?" I mumble, keeping my eyes shut. Now is no time to be lazy, you sloth. You've got to be up and about, because the Hunger Games is not a place to be lazy, I could almost hear my mother telling me. Creepy thought indeed. But I shut my eyes even tighter, refusing to open them only to see living hell.

Wake up, Maysilee. Wake up. Wake up. How can you win this and come home if you're too slothful to even wake up! You should be alert, because when you're not, you can be ambushed! Father's voice.

"Nothing. It's breakfast time, that's all. I gathered a few berries we can eat." Mary replies. But I don't, so she gets up and shakes my shoulders. "Wake up, Maysilee! Wake up!"

With my hands, I finally pry my eyes open. "Sorry, Mary." I apologize.

"It's all right." Mary answers. She holds out her hand, which contains a few delicious-looking berries. "Here are the berries I found. They look delicious, don't they?" Mary asks me. "Don't worry I haven't eaten a single one." She laughs, and pops one into her mouth.

Suddenly, I remember. Those berries… they're poisonous, as everything in the arena is! "Mary!" I shriek. "Spit that berry out, right now! It's lethal! You'll die." And she does spit it out. She looks at me in understanding and… appreciation. Then she wipes her tongue with her shirt, just to be safe.

When she's done with that, she hugs me. "Maysilee! You saved my life! Thank you." Mary wipes a tear streaming down her cheek.

"Mary, didn't you know already? Everything in the arena except for the rain and the supplies is poisonous!" I inform her, surprised she did not know. It was extremely obvious, from the clean river to the berries—similar to what Mary gathered—on the bushes. For me, at least.

"I didn't." Mary tells me glumly. "I was focusing on keeping Perry alive." I ask her a silent question with my eyebrows. _Why?_ She blushes and stammers her answer, which was a barely audible whisper: "I—I… I like Perry. A-As… As in, more than a friend kind of like."

Perry. Perry Mason, one of Mary's district partners. Personally, I think it's a funny name. But apparently, Mary doesn't. Her cheeks are turning from scarlet to deep crimson. "Oh…" I don't know what else to answer. Now I feel guilty for making Mary tell me why.

"But he died…" Mary continues. "He d-died because… I was a coward, and I didn't fight the Careers that were attacking him." Mary bursts into tears. She cries over and over again: "I'm such a coward!"

I let her cry. But when I could not stand it anymore, I tell her firmly, "Mary, we all know that you're not a coward."

"Why? I am!" Mary insists. "It's my fault that Perry died!"

"You're not a coward…" I say. "You're not a coward because you're brave enough to admit that you love him and that it was your fault Perry died." Did I actually say that? Oh my gosh. I actually said that.

What a big, insensitive jerk I am. And the whole nation of Panem knows it now. And most importantly, Mary knows it now.


	11. A Short Intermission III: Dead

**Sorry if this is longer than the other intermissions. Enjoy... or not.**

* * *

"I'm sorry, Mary." I keep apologizing to the weeping girl in front of me. "I'm so sorry." And just so that Mary will cheer up, I insult myself. "What a big jerk I must seem to you, Mary. I know you wish you've never even met a big, insensitive idiot like me…" the words go on and on.

"I don't." Mary squeaks. She looks up at me with those sea-green eyes of hers. "I don't wish that. I'm crying because you're right. About me being a coward. About me being brave enough to tell you that I love him. You're right about everything, Maysilee."

And those tears she has been hiding from me finally come out. Mary cries her eyes out, inconsolably. About thirty minutes after Mary started crying, it started raining, as if the sky was crying with her. And it still is. Mary finally notices. She gets up and says, "It's finally raining. I'll get the water."

I nod, and give her the bowl from my backpack. "Come back when the bowl is full. And don't go far." I tell her, like an overprotective mother. Mary nods determinedly and hops from branch to branch, until she reaches the ground safely.

I reach for my backpack, and pull out the dried beef inside. I set aside some for later, of course. Then I dig in.

But before I could, I hear a scream. My name, again and again. "Maysilee! Maysilee! Help me! Maysilee! Maysilee!" Mary cries repeatedly. My eyes go wide, and I jump down from branch to branch, like Mary did a few minutes ago. Before I know it, I'm on the ground.

Oh, wait. Scratch that. I'm on the ground with Mary, surrounded by at least four of the most violent Careers I've ever seen. And I realize one more thing: _I forgot my gun, and my darts._ One of the Careers flashes me an evil so-what-are-you-going-to-do-now-girly grin.

I roll my eyes, and start talking confidently, even though inside, I am whimpering in fear. "Hello," I say to the Careers. "Would you like to come up to our branch for some dried beef?"

What a stupid question it is. And what a stupid person I am. Inviting a group of bloody Careers for food, only to let them kill us later?

Mary elbows me. "What are you thinking?" she mutters to me.

I elbow her back, and murmur, "Mary. Let's keep them busy, okay? And then we run away."

"But what about your backpack?" Mary whispers.

"Never mind it." I whisper back.

"No thank you," one of the Careers replies. She flashes me a cruel smile, like a hunter about to kill a deer. "We're not so hungry. But we're thirsty. For blood!" The girl cackles. She reaches into her jacket, and pulls out a large knife. She throws it at our direction.

Mary screams, "Run!" and I start running like there's no tomorrow. I hear the girl swear, and throw the knife at us again. Missed. Mary runs faster, and so do I. With my long legs and my quick feet, I soon overtake her. But I can't lag behind, or I'll be dead meat.

Suddenly, I hear a choke. I spin around. It's Mary, lying on the ground in a small pool of blood, which was about to get bigger. I gasp, and sprint to her. The Careers must have gone after hitting their target, as they are nowhere to be seen. "Mary!" I shout.

"May…si…lee…" Mary croaks. The Career girl's knife had hit her in the back, causing her to fall down. And while that was happening, I was running, ahead like a coward. "Maysilee… you have to win…"

"Mary! You're going to be all right. It's okay." I try to console her. She might as well feel calm on her last moments here on Earth.

But Mary shakes her head and closes her eyes. "Goodbye…" she whispers. And her eyes close for the last time.

"Mary!" I shake her shoulders, trying to call her back into this world. But it is no use.

Mary is already in the other world, with her dear Perry.


	12. Confinement

When I finally wake up, I see a boy slumped over my bed. Gregor. I crawl to his side of the bed and gently shake him awake. "Gregor, wake up!" I say repeatedly, all the while shaking him. Why is he still here? I have a hunch, but that's just it. A hunch.

Gregor lifts his head and rubs his sleepy eyes. Finally, he faces me and blushes. "Um, hi, Maribelle."

"What are you doing here? I thought you went home already, Gregor." I ask him.

"I could not leave you alone here, now, could I?" Gregor blushes immensely, and continues unraveling his tale. "So I watched you until your parents came home and I could leave. But I guess I fell asleep on the job." He blushes more, as if he's embarrassed by it all.

"That's thoughtful of you, Gregor." I reply. "But you really didn't have to. After all we're just friends… right?" I ask him, testing him, seeing if he will tell me what he thinks about this whole _building-of-relationships-so-later-when-we're-older-we-can-marry_ thing.

He considers it for a moment. Finally, he replies quietly, "Yes, Maribelle… we are just friends, after all."

"Argh!" I exclaim. My head feels like it's been hit with an axe. I fall down on my pillows, clutching my poor head. "Ow… Erm, Gregor, can you get the medicine? It's pink, in a vial, over there on my study table." Gregor stands up, and gets it.

When he gets back, a sudden problem hits me. "Gregor, what about the spoon?" I ask anxiously.

He smiles, and reaches into his pocket. "I know it's around here somewhere…" he mumbles. Finally, he pulls out a tiny teaspoon, adorned with golden decorations on the handle. My mouth gapes open. Why does he carry around a spoon wherever he goes! "Here you go."

"Why do you have it right now, Gregor?" I question him.

He pulls on a guilty face. "It's… It's a family heirloom. My parents gave it to me, and said it was a good luck charm to carry around. So I do." He says, clearly embarrassed about the 'good luck charm' thing.

"That's really nice of you. But it's a family heirloom. Why are you letting me use it?" I inquire.

He blushes a little. "The circumstances demand it, Maribelle."

"Um… erm… okay…" I stammer. What else is to say? "As you say, Gregor." I take the spoon and the vial from him and measure the amount. Then, I shove the spoon with the medicine into my mouth. I swallow quickly, and try not to taste any of it. But I can still taste it—what foul tasting stuff. "Waterrrrrrrr…" I say in a raspy voice. "Pleaseeee…"

Gregor gets up and comes back with a glass of water. I immediately grab it and drink it, hoping to wash away the taste, which it does.

"That's better," I say. "Thank you, Gregor." I hand him back the spoon. "Here's your spoon back, Gregor."

"No, it's all right, Maribelle. You can keep it." Gregor replies, not accepting the spoon. "It's yours now."

"Are you sure?" I ask him anxiously. Gregor nods. "All right." I open the drawer of my bedside table and shove it in, amongst my other important items: my secret stash of sweets, a pile of unfinished drawings and my diary, which I'm planning to make into a book. I haven't considered the complications of that because number one: who would publish it? And more importantly, number two: who would _read_ it? "Thanks, Gregor," I say, pushing the drawer shut.

"You're welcome." Gregor says. Just then, I hear my bedroom door creak open. I instantly turn to its direction. And I see them. Mom. Dad. My parents. Spying on us. Argh. I'm busted. Or am I?

"Hey, Mom, hey, Dad," I say sweetly. Gregor opens his mouth to say something, but I silence him with a look. "What're you doing here? I thought you had to work in the sweet shop."

"Hi, Maribelle." Mother replies, playing along, at least for the moment, but for a completely different reason, I think. She turns to Gregor and gasps. "Oh, Gregor! I had no idea you were still here! Were you with Maribelle all this time?" Gregor nods. "Oh, that's so sweet of you, Gregor. It's so nice to see you're getting along with Maribelle."

I turn to Gregor. He's _blushing_. Intensely. His cheeks are a vivid shade of crimson. "It's nothing, Mrs. Donner." Gregor answers.

"You can go home now, Gregor." Father says. "You must have been watching her all night." Gregor turns an even deeper shade of crimson. "You can leave now. We have to go tend to the sweet shop, and leaving Maribelle alone worries us. But you can go home and have some rest. Plus, wouldn't your parents worry about you?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Donner," Gregor says. "Actually, I like talking to Maribelle.

"That's so nice of you, Gregor." Mom says. "We'll leave you to her now. Is there anything we can get you?" she asks. Gregor shakes his head and mutters a soft "No thank you". Father nods curtly and leaves, followed by Mother. I hear Gregor breathe a sigh of relief. It's kind of easy to tell that he's terrified of Father. A lot of people are.

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "About Father, I mean. He's soft-spoken, but kind of scary. Don't worry, though. Just don't mess with him."

Gregor laughs. "I'm not scared of your father, Maribelle." He says. I give him a look that says, _Oh really now?_ "Really. Trust me, Maribelle. I'm not afraid of your father. I'm absolutely terrified." I snort and start laughing, and so does Gregor.

"Okay, okay." I reply. "So, Gregor, what time is it now?" I ask him. He shrugs, and checks the clock.

"It's eleven a.m." Gregor says. Eleven in the morning; almost lunchtime. But I'm not even hungry yet. All of a sudden, Gregor turns to me in concern and asks, "Maribelle, do you feel all right? Still have a headache?" I shrug. I do, except it's not that painful anymore. "Well, do you? Because if you still do, I'll go to the apothecary and fetch some medicine for you."

This is one side of Gregor I've never seen before. Annoyingly persistent and concerned. Oh, and sweet too. I shake my head. "Just barely. It's all right, Gregor. Just stay here."

But Gregor has to leave eventually. "Bye, Maribelle. Have to go—my parents would be real worried about me." He gives a small chuckle.

The headache managed to return a few more times. I've taken the maximum dosages for one day, so I can't take anymore, which is horrible—my head's throbbing again. I wave at him weakly. "Bye, Gregor." I say weakly. It's kind of hard to believe that I was that girl who was laughing like a madwoman a few hours ago.

So now I'm all alone. Mother and Father are still managing that sweet shop. Oh, how I hate being confined.


	13. Lifeless

Days pass by quickly. My headaches start to disappear. And pretty soon, I am telling my mother I am well enough to watch the Hunger Games tonight. I am afraid that my headaches will start again, but I am even more afraid of getting punished for not watching the Games.

"Maribelle, are you really sure about this?" Mother asks nervously. I nod. Mother sighs. "Okay. But if it's ever too much… you must stop." I nod again. "Promise me, Maribelle." Mother clutches my hands. "If it's too much for you, stop watching."

"I promise, Mother." I reply. Mother lets go of my hands and walks out the door. Father must have gone ahead, as he is nowhere to be seen.

I grab the remote and switch on the television. And what do I see? Maysilee and Haymitch. As allies.

"You get some sleep, Haymitch." Maysilee says. "I'll take the first watch."

"No, Maysilee. It's all right. You get some sleep. You need it more than I do." Haymitch replies. Maysilee glares at Haymitch. Haymitch calmly glares back at her. It's like a never ending staring contest—back and forth, back and forth. Finally, Maysilee sighs.

"Fine, Haymitch." Maysilee says, clearly not wanting to start a fight. "I'll get some sleep. But don't you dare wander off."

"Yeah, you can count on me. I won't wander off like your friend did. Mary Cresta was her name, right?" Haymitch answers cockily. "What a careless girl she was." Maysilee's cheeks turn a light shade of magenta. She takes a deep breath, and starts telling Haymitch off.

"Haymitch Abernathy, it's not very nice to speak ill of the dead! And most importantly, she didn't wander off! She was getting rainwater so we wouldn't die of thirst!" Maysilee retorts. She stares at Haymitch. But he's more intimidating, so it doesn't have the desired effect.

"Maysilee Donner," Haymitch says, mimicking her tone. "Shut up and go to sleep."

"How did you even know about Mary?" Maysilee persists. Haymitch sighs. "Tell me, Haymitch." Haymitch does not answer. "You were spying on us, weren't you, Haymitch?" Maysilee yells dramatically. Haymitch still doesn't answer. "Well, Haymitch?"

"Are you done now, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks casually. "Go to sleep. Do save your far-fetched theories for tomorrow."

Maysilee sighs. "Haymitch, tell me now." Maysilee insists. "Were you skulking around and spying on us?"

"If I tell you, sweetheart, would you go to sleep?" Haymitch says.

"Since when did you start calling me 'sweetheart'?" Maysilee asks. Haymitch grins at her.

"Since five seconds ago." Haymitch replies.

"That's not what I meant, Abernathy." Maysilee tells him.

"When did you start calling me 'Abernathy'?"

"Since five seconds ago." Maysilee answers.

"Touché. Now go to sleep, sweetheart." Haymitch says. Maysilee rolls her eyes, mutters "Fine", and tucks herself in her sleeping bag. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart." Haymitch says, kissing her cheek. Maysilee pretends to be asleep for one more second. Then her eyes snap open.

"Did you just kiss me?" Maysilee asks Haymitch incredulously.

"Yeah. Got a problem with that, sweetheart?" Haymitch replies. Maysilee sits up and stares at Haymitch, her mouth still half-open in surprise. "Or would you like…" Haymitch leans in closer. "A kiss on the lips?" he whispers. He doesn't wait for Maysilee's answer and presses his lips full onto hers.

They break away slowly. Maysilee speaks first. "Did you just kiss me_ again_?" Maysilee asks. Haymitch shrugs. "You kiss everyone. And I thought you have a girlfriend at home. That's not very loyal of you, Haymitch." Haymitch shrugs again. "Why did you do it?"

"Hey, we're in the arena." Haymitch reminds Maysilee. "We don't have much time left, do we? So we have to make it last."

"You're not answering my question." Maysilee retorts impatiently.

I tear my eyes away from the screen. I can't believe it. _Haymitch Abernathy_ kissed my sister. A Seam boy kissed my sister. While the whole nation of Panem was watching. Oh my, gosh. If my parents tell me off for hanging out with boys—with the exception of Gregor, because that was Mom's arrangement—I wonder how my parents will react to _that._

When Maysilee comes home, Father will probably go… "_Maysilee Donner!_ You _kissed_ that Abernathy boy!" And Mother will probably go… "Maysilee! How _dare_ you kiss a boy! At least he's dead now, because you are _not_ marrying a boy from the Seam!" Poor Maysilee.

Soon enough, it's morning again in the arena. And it's still night here in District Twelve. Oh yeah, I forgot. Time in the arena will flow faster than time in reality if the Gamemakers want it that way. And they probably do, there are only a handful of contestants left, including Maysilee and Haymitch.

I stand up and go to the bathroom. Hey, nature calls. When I get back, the camera was focusing on two tributes, the girl from District One and the boy from District Two. I recall the girl's name, which is Tatiana. I'm not sure about the boy's name. But I'll call him Duncan, because he _looks_ like a Duncan.

"Boring," I say to myself. I yawn. Then I realize that I must've sounded like a snobby Capitol citizen watching a show lacking entertainment. I feel guilty as I watch Tatiana and Duncan fight to the death. Tatiana's dagger finally manages to find its way into Duncan's heart.

Much to my relief, the camera switches to Maysilee and Haymitch, who are sitting by a large abyss. Maysilee stands up, looking like she's ready to leave the alliance. "—I don't want it to come down to the two of us." Haymitch ignores Maysilee, who stands up and walks away without looking back. Haymitch throws a rock into the abyss. And to my surprise, it flies back to him.

Haymitch laughs. He picks up another rock and chucks it in. And it comes back. Just then, I hear a familiar, piercing scream.

"Maysilee!" Haymitch and I cry out in unison. Haymitch stands up and runs.

The camera switches to a horrifying scene. Maysilee being pecked by birds the color of the strawberry-flavored lollipops in the candy shop owned by Father and Mother. One of the birds skewers its beak into Maysilee's neck. Maysilee lets out a scream.

Haymitch takes out three knives and throws them at the birds. One impales itself in a bird's neck, which kills it. Another pierces the head of another bird. The last knife hits the last bird square in the chest. Maysilee falls to the ground. Haymitch holds her hand and strokes it.

"Maysilee…" Haymitch says. The camera focuses on Maysilee. Her eyes are squeezed shut. "Maysilee… I promise I'll win. I'll win… for the both of us." Haymitch declares. Blood pours out of Maysilee's wound. "I'm sorry." Haymitch whispers.

That is when the cannon sounds.


	14. The Penultimate Chapter

**Okay, this is the last chapter. I'll be posting an epilogue, too. Sorry if it ended too abruptly. It's almost school, and I need to finish this up.**

* * *

No. No. _No._ That can't be. Maysilee is _not_ dead. She's anything but dead. Maysilee is alive. Maysilee is alive. Maysilee is alive… right? A voice in my head tells me, _No, Maysilee is anything but alive; she's dead._ _You saw it yourself, Maribelle._

Yes, I did see it. My parents saw it. I bet Delilah and Gregor saw it too. Everyone in the nation of Panem saw it. So why can't I believe the truth, the ugly, painful truth? Is it a defense mechanism? Is it the truth at all?

I scream. I cry. I yell. I shriek. I sob. I wail. _That won't bring Maysilee back,_ the same voice in my head sing-songs. And that's the last straw. I start cussing—and I have no idea why. Pretty soon, Mother hears me and runs up to my room. "Maribelle. What did I just hear?" she asks me sharply.

I cover my face with my hands, but move my fingers a bit so I can see my mother. Her eyes are red. She's been crying, just like me. But I don't think she's been cussing. "Maribelle?" Mother asks me, her voice softening. "Maribelle, are you all right?"

What a silly question. Of course I'm not all right. So I shake my head. I remove my hands from my face. "Of course I'm not all right, Mother. How could I be? Maysilee—Maysilee's…" I stutter. Mother comes to me, and rubs my back affectionately.

"Go to sleep, honey, it will all be better in the morning." Mother says soothingly. She stops rubbing my back.

I swallow. No, it won't be better in the morning, no matter what Mother says. Maysilee will still be gone. Gone. Dead. Because of that arena. "All right," I reply softly. I pat my pillow a few times and tuck myself in. "Good night, Mother." I gaze at my mother's face. She's trying her best not to cry again. But I would understand if she did.

"Good night, Maribelle." Mother answers. She kisses my forehead like she used to do when I was a child and leaves. Pretty soon, I drift off.

* * *

We are at the yard behind our house.

The first thing I see is her. My sister, with her beautiful blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. My twin sister, who I've been best friends with since birth. Maysilee. "Maysilee!" I say happily and hug her tightly. She hugs me back with equal, if not more, force.

"Maribelle!" Maysilee says. "I miss you," she adds sadly. I study my twin. She looks the same, which is remarkable, except for a hole I see on her neck. The hole. The fatal wound that caused her death. "This?" she says, as if reading my mind. She points to the wound. "A little souvenir I took with me from the Games."

"Oh, Maysilee." I answer. "So you're really… gone? You're not coming back? I'm not going to see you again?" I start shivering, even though it's a warm summer night. "How will I… get past this?" Maysilee looks at me sympathetically. "Will I _even_ get past this?" I muse.

"You will, Maribelle," Maysilee says firmly. "You're the strongest person I know. You will get through this."

"But… what if I can't? What if I won't get through this?" I ask her nervously. Tears are already streaming down my cheeks, for little reason. The evidence that I am anything but strong. "I'm not strong enough… not without you, Maysilee."

Maysilee hugs me. "I'll always be here, Maribelle, you just can't see me." Maysilee says.

"Maybe, but it's not the same," I complain. "I need you, Maysilee. Come back to me."

"I—I…" Maysilee stammers. Wow. It's the first time I've ever heard Maysilee stammer. But in this situation, I wouldn't blame her for stammering. So I suppose it doesn't count. "I… Well, Maribelle, I…" I clutch Maysilee's hands, not planning on letting go soon.

"Maysilee, promise me." I say.

Maysilee shakes her head. "I can't make promises I can't keep, Maribelle."

"But Maysilee…" I reply. She has a point. "I can't live without you." My hands are shaking now, and my voice is shaking, too. "I'm not strong enough… I don't think I can handle it, Maysilee. Please. Don't leave me alone! I can't stand it."

"You won't be alone, Maribelle." Maysilee says gently. "You have Mother and Father. You have Delilah to turn to for comfort. You have Gregor. He'll always be there for you, I just know it." She smiles at me serenely. Meanwhile, I'm wondering how she even knew about him. "When you're dead, you could see everything, even the past." Maysilee explains. "You could even read people's minds."

I bite my lip nervously. "You won't be alone, Maribelle," Maysilee repeats. "I'll be here, too. Except you can't see me. That's the only difference."

"But, Maysilee…" I whisper. "I want you_ here._ With me. With Mother and Father."

"I'm sorry, Maribelle." Maysilee apologizes. Now there are tears in her eyes too. "I'm really sorry." She gulps. "Maribelle, I have a favor to ask of you." I nod willingly. "Stewart… if you don't want to keep him… don't give him away to just anybody. Give him to Delilah. She always adored him."

"Of course. It's the least I could do."

* * *

I wake up, just in time to see my bedroom door open. "Hi," I say.

"Maribelle, they're here to see you." Mother replies. _They?_ Who could _they _be? "Delilah and Gregor. They came here at the same time, concerned about you. If you're too weak, I'll let them come here instead, all right?" she asks. I nod. She closes the door and comes back two minutes later with both Delilah and Gregor.

"Hello," I say softly.

Delilah is the first one to speak. "Maribelle, are you all right?" she asks me. I shake my head. Actually, I'm not. The headache's come back after Maysilee… passed. "I brought you some medicine. I thought you might need it, for your headache." She shows me a vial and places it on my bedside table.

"Delilah?" I ask weakly. She turns to me. I could tell she's trying her best not to cry. Maysilee was her best friend, too. "Do you… want to keep Stewart?" Delilah considers it for a moment and nods. "You can have him."

"Thanks, Maribelle," she says, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I guess I'll go now…" she says. She's about to cry. Delilah rubs her eyes, takes the cage with Stewart in it and leaves me alone with Gregor.

"Gregor," I croak.

"Are you all right, Maribelle?" Gregor asks me. I shake my head. "I'm so sorry about Maysilee." I nod.

"Why are you here? It's not that I resent your presence, but I'm just wondering…" I say.

"I have to tell you something really important." Gregor says.

He gulps. "Go on," I say.

"Maribelle…" Gregor says. "I like you. More than as a friend should."

That… was so sudden. I don't know how to respond. What should I do? What should I say? I'm not sure if I feel the same way. I mean… I like Gregor. That's just it. I like Gregor. As a friend should. Right? That's a question I'm not so sure of. "When did you realize it?" I ask.

"When your mother made me come here." He smiles at me. "You don't have to feel the same way."

I remember Maysilee's words in my dream. _He'll always be there for you._ That's true. When I got sick while watching the Games with him, he didn't leave my bedside. He really cares for me. And then, I realize I do care for him too.

"But I do," I reply.

* * *

**Please remember to review.:)**


	15. Epilogue: A Bit of Happiness

**Okay, this epilogue is a little short. I thought I might just write about a day in the lives of the Undersees. If you think I ended it a bit too abruptly, I had to, because school's nearing and I can't update anymore when school comes. So enjoy. Oh, and please review.**

* * *

It's been eleven years since Maysilee passed on.

I lie in bed helplessly. Those stupid headaches never went away, after she died. Gregor comes over, holding our little two-year-old daughter in his arms. Our little daughter, who looks exactly like her auntie did. "I'm taking Madge out for a walk, okay?" he says. I nod in assent. "We'll pick up some medicine for you on the way home." I nod again.

Gregor is very thoughtful, very compassionate. He certainly deserves his title as mayor of District Twelve. I could tell he's proud of that. But he's modest too, because whenever I tell him that, he says that there's a title he's even more proud of—Madge's father, and my husband.

"Bye-bye, Mommy," Madge says, shocking me out of my reverie. Gregor lowers her down to my level, and lets her kiss me on the cheek.

"Bye, Madge. Bye, Gregor. Be careful, all right?" I say hoarsely. Gregor nods.

"Okay," Madge replies. And they take off. An hour later, they come back. Madge greets me with a big smile pasted on her face. "Hi, Mommy. We brought your medicine. And Daddy has a surprise for you, too." Madge says happily.

"Thank you, Honey," I say, trying to sound happy for the sake of Madge. "Really? Let's see the surprise."

"Daddy?" Madge calls out.

Soon enough, Gregor comes into the room, holding my medicine in one hand. His other hand is hidden behind his back. "Hi, Maribelle." Gregor says, smiling. I smile back at him wearily. "As promised, the medicine,"—Gregor hands me the medicine—"and the surprise? Close your eyes." I close my eyes. It's like a game. And we're playing because Madge is watching our every move.

"What's the surprise?" I ask. I hear a rustle, and suddenly, I smell flowers. Gregor tells me to open my eyes, and I do. "Flowers?" I ask in mock surprise. "You didn't have to!" Madge giggles and Gregor grins. I gaze at the flowers. I hope they're not store-bought—we don't have money to waste for things like that. I can name a few of them—petunias, dandelions, primroses…

"Did I forget something?" I ask them.

"No," Gregor answers. "You don't need a reason to give flowers to someone, right?"

"Perhaps. But flowers are costly," I say. "Did you buy these?"

"No. Picked them at the Meadow… do you remember, Maribelle? That's where we first met." Gregor reminds me. I nod. How could I forget? Gregor leans a bit closer to me. "I saw your friend… Delilah was it, while we were in the Meadow. Married to that coal miner, Everdeen. They have a little daughter, around Madge's age."

"Really?" I ask. I'm not that surprised. We haven't been communicating much after Maysilee's passing. Anything weird could have happened while I was not looking. "Delilah Everdeen…" I muse. "What's their daughter's name? Maybe she could befriend Madge."

"I asked around, and they said she was named Katniss. Odd name, if you ask me." Gregor answers.

"Katniss… I swear, I think Mr. Everdeen named her." I say under my breath.

"Whatever you say. I'm going to prepare dinner now. I hope you like bread." Gregor jokes. I laugh, though it's not that funny. I pick up Madge, and hold her in my arms. I watch my daughter. She looks just like Maysilee, it's easy to tell. And her blue eyes… she didn't get them from Gregor or me. She got them from Maysilee, who had my mother's eyes. I have my father's eyes, which are a lighter shade than Mother's sapphire blue eyes.

Gregor nods at Madge's direction, and leaves to prepare dinner.

I rock Madge back and forth. After about ten minutes, Gregor comes back.

"Is dinner done? You prepare dinner fast." I say.

"No. But I love you." Gregor replies. I resist the urge to snort and roll my eyes, because what he said made no sense at all. After seventeen years of studying English in school, I've learned enough to deduce that 'but' is a conjunction connecting two opposite ideas, not two completely random ideas.

I smile. "I love you, too."


	16. Epilogue Part 2: Gone

**Okay, I decided to add a little last bit of tragedy. Then, I'm out, people. Peace!**

* * *

Madge opens the door quietly. "Mommy, is Patrick all right? Is he still sick?" she asks me.

I don't know how to break this to her. My second child… he's been infected by one of those terrible epidemics that come around every few years or so. There's a really big chance that… he'll die. _No, Maribelle, don't think that way. The law of attraction, remember? _I take a deep breath. "Yes, Madge, but he's getting better," I lie.

Madge smiles at me innocently. "Okay," she replies. Madge shuts the door.

I turn back to the baby I named after my father for any signs of being alive: breathing, slight movements, etc. To my relief, he's still breathing. I sigh hopelessly. Delilah's father said that Patrick, at age one and a half, is too young for the medicine, the only medicine that will cure him.

But I had insisted on it. Yet, he said no, and that Patrick might die if we give him the medicine. According to him, the medicine is really strong, but is no stuff for babies. The only good thing is that he's making a medicine weak enough for Patrick to take, but strong enough to cure his sickness. It will be ready in two days.

I can't imagine losing Patrick. I already lost Maysilee, my father… my mother… who else is next? Patrick? I can't let that happen.

The door creaks open. Is it Madge again? I spin around. Oh. It's not. It's Gregor. "Hello, Gregor," I whisper.

"How is he?" he asks me anxiously. I shake my head. _Not getting better._ Gregor comes closer, and gives me a warm, tight embrace. "Did you tell Madge yet? That… he might… not recover?" he asks me softly. I shake my head. Nine year old Madge just isn't ready for this.

"I can't… We can't tell her, Gregor. She'll be crushed," I reply, tears already starting to form around my eyes. "And… there's still a chance, a slight chance that Patrick will recover… right?" I ask doubtfully.

"Right." Gregor whispers back.

"Oh, Gregor, if I had taken better care of him… he wouldn't be so ill…" I say, the tears already starting to flow down my cheeks. "And Patrick wouldn't… be in the danger of dying." I add.

"It's not your fault, Maribelle. There's still a thin chance that Patrick will not die." Gregor replies.

"Daddy… Mommy…?" Oh no. Madge heard us talking. "Did you say… that Patrick might die?" Madge asks us fearfully. I swallow my tears, and turn to Gregor for an answer. Surprisingly, his face is just as blank as mine is. "And Mommy… why are you crying?"

"I—It's nothing, dear," I answer. "Patrick won't die."

"But Mommy, Daddy said, 'There's still a thin chance that Patrick will not die.' Doesn't that mean that Patrick… might die?" Madge asks, shivering uncontrollably. I shake my head and reach out to pat her shoulder. "Mother…! Don't lie to me!" Madge pushes my hand off her shoulder.

"Madge…" I start.

"Mother, Father, tell me the truth!"

* * *

_The Next Day…_

"He's getting worse," I tell Gregor. I put a hand on my son's forehead. "He's oven hot now." Tears spill from my eyes. "I think he's about to…" I gulp. It hurts to admit it. "I think he's going to…" I try again, but the words just don't come.

"He's not about to die. Let's check him again," Gregor says calmly, but I could tell that inside, he's just as frantic as I am.

He scoops up our child and places his fingers over Patrick's neck, checking for a pulse like Delilah's father taught us.

Suddenly, Gregor starts to cry. "Maribelle… at first, I felt a pulse, and then, it's gone. Patrick… Patrick's gone."

No. No. No. Patrick's gone. "NO! He-He-He-He's not gone!" I shout, the tears already streaming down my cheeks.

"Check… him for yourself," Gregor sobs. He hands me Patrick, and I check his pulse, like Gregor did. And Gregor is right. There is no pulse.

"NO!" I shriek. "We lost him!"

"Mommy?" Madge's voice creeps into my ears.

"Madge… Patrick's dead."


End file.
